


the weight we carry

by fealle



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Children, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angsty Schmoop, Childhood Sweethearts, Crossdressing, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sexual Tension, Sexual Violence, Underage Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 04:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fealle/pseuds/fealle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>let nobody tell them again that as children, they have no right to be in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the weight we carry

**Author's Note:**

> this is actually schmoop, but there are bits of violence here and there. please heed the tags.
> 
> post-apocalyptic AU where charles and erik are childhood friends doing horrible adult things and being in love.

  


`IF I LOVE YOU, IS THAT A FACT OR A WEAPON?`

  


**1.**

Charles kisses him on the nose as it rains, and he whispers, "help me bury his body."

It was raining. The water frames his hair over his eyes and around his round, pink cheeks, bruised purple and yellow because Erik had been too late, _this time_ , among other times, and he wouldn't stop crying because he'd promised. Men keep promises. Adults do that. Boys break them all the time, and Erik didn't want to be just _any_ boy, except now. His fists were clenched tight as he weeps and he gasps out, "I'm sorry - I was too late - "

Charles shakes his head. "Well, it would've happened sooner or later."

Erik picks up a shovel and digs a hole while Charles licks the tips of his fingers clean, one by one, knee-deep in gore. Erik works with two, three shovels, his hand slipping on one as he digs, Charles left standing on the side because Erik wouldn't have him get involved in this. He considers himself guilty for something that he cannot possibly blame himself for, and somehow this endears Charles to him a lot more, if only because Erik was the only one he has.

He digs for a while. Later on, Erik asks, "who was he?"

Charles looks at the corpse's face gutted diagonally with the blunt end of a shovel, minutes ago, and he shrugs. "My brother. He's an asshole."

Erik nods, as if that explains everything in the world, and he continues to dig, and the shovels move in tune with his breathing. When he rests Charles kisses the ridges of his knuckles, raw and frozen in the rain.

 

**2** **.**

Erik wishes he remembers how they met. He's only twelve; he reasons to himself that there's no excuse not to remember, considering Charles was Very Important to him in the way some adults look at other adults and hold their hands and think, this is it, that's the end of my solitude. But he doesn't remember, and he constantly speaks about this with worry to Charles, because he's only twelve going on thirteen and his memory really shouldn't be this bad.

Charles shushes him and smiles.

 

**3.**

( _Help me_ , Charles whispered, and something was alit in Erik's mind, like the way trees disappear into ash every summer fire, as he watched Charles stripped, bared, and then whipped. It was an oddly arousing and terrifying existence and he killed a lot of men but the sight of Charles kneeling on the floor and his legs spread was a matter that gave him no reprieve. In his dreams sometimes Erik remembers this shame and Charles carefully shoves it out of his mind. It's not his fault, Charles thinks fiercely; it was never Erik's fault. He was only human. It was human to look. At that time, he only had eyes for Charles, and Charles noted that fire in his eyes, uncomprehending as Erik was, and he held his gaze for him as he killed every single mutant and human within that brothel. And that was how they met.

Let no-one ever tell him again that he has no sympathy for those who need it. Charles slips his fingers in between Erik's own, and looks up to him with a smile that promises him, _you are not alone._ )

 

**4.**

Sometimes they visit old, abandoned malls, to raid for supplies. Since Erik's mutation allows him to manipulate metal, he can easily clear the area of debris and get into parts of the old buildings in which most scavengers couldn't; he could also create a barricade with them, and he feels much more secure in a place where he and Charles can stay and is utterly under his control.

Charles likes to raid for oversized clothes which allows him to draw his feet inside shirts in case he gets cold. He also likes to raid for thick cable-knit sweaters and other warm things for the cold night. Temperatures had been so extreme since the war, and while it can get blistering hot in the morning, at night it could get absolutely freezing. Erik likes to look for things that fit him well enough and allow him to move freely in case he gets into a fight.

Charles supposed that, if they had been ordinary boys like the Lee girl and the Summers boy they met before, he and Erik could play. Somehow it feels awkward when he and Erik do it. There's a weird smile on Erik's face, as if to ask, for whom are we kidding ourselves with this charade? and then Charles purses his lips and doesn't reply but instead slips an arm around Erik's own, afraid to answer. Neither one of them could remember how to be children because there had been so little time.

Other supplies they took: canned goods, water (Erik would kill people for water), anything else to survive. By now Erik is armed with fifteen knives which he'd taken from the kitchen centre; he has a chain wrapped around his wrist. Charles tells him whether their enemies are stronger or weaker, human or non-human.

Occasionally Erik would find a record, this one of Handel, of all things. Its mournful music sounded archaic and perverse amidst the destruction, and Charles laughs as he listens to it. "Do you dance?" he asks shyly.

Erik shrugs. He dusts off his hands over his shorts, marking them gray with soot, and pauses from rummaging through a shelf of towels. "I don't, but if you want to, I can try?"

And that's how they ended up dancing in the rubble, careful to avoid bits of rock and steel foundation while they bumped their knees and stepped on each other's toes, dancing.

 

**5.**

If he was in love, he was in love in the way one sees lightning flash against grey skies.

 

**6.**

Charles had a pastime, and it's something that Erik never agreed on, but it plays on basic human needs and often it gets them some of the more difficult-to-get supplies, like cigarettes, or alcohol:

Charles would slide his legs over the lap of (x, y, z) and whisper in their ear, "how do you want me tonight?" and then (a, b, c) will tell him, naked and on your knees, please (verb) my (noun), please let me (verb) your (noun), let me (verb) your (noun), let me (hurt, comfort, fuck, kiss, more verbs), I want you (state of mind), I want you, I want you.

These scenarios would play out endlessly in the night in some corner, alley, room, ground, bed, with minor adjustments to each scenario and each pleasure in the subject's mind, and Charles would always be on the foot of the bed, unsee, watching the grotesque masturbation, fantasy, of one (d, e, f) fuck him in their mind. It's a trick he'd learnt from an acquaintance, long ago, and it's gotten him different favours and supplies every time, but it's horrible and distasteful, letting the subjects unravel their fantasies in the desperation of war. Most of them wish to die after fucking him, and Charles just smiles benignly at them before waving Erik to come over and kill the ones he's absolutely disgusted by. Mostly humans.

Those who are too weak and pathetic to live in this new world of theirs have no business crying.

Erik never likes it, but he sees the use for it, and so he never says anything, only tells Charles to be safe. After each session Charles comes back with something important, and tonight he comes back with a pack of cigarettes for Erik and two bottles of vodka.

"Sorry, he wanted to do a lot of things," Charles says, nonchalant, and Erik just grunts, looks at the pack in his hands offered to him. Marlboros were okay, everything related to vice was in short supply, but the mind can always supply the most grotesque of fantasies. "I'll bet Logan will give us a room and waive off payment for a bottle."

"I'm sure he will." Charles is a little tense on the subject of Logan. He can't read his mind, for some reason, and it worries him, but Erik assures him he can pull the metal off of his body if need be. So far, there had been no need for that, and he hopes it can always stay that way - as much as he knows Erik likes making their own house, he hasn't gotten to the part where he can move heavy iron beams and if he pushes himself too hard something might happen to him which no doctor in this state of the world could tend to.

"We're paying him something worth more than other orphans do," Erik says. "That's gotta count for something."

He puts a cigarette in his mouth; Charles lights it up for him. They walk into empty subway stations leading into Queens, a path only available to them which Erik had carved, tirelessly, for weeks.

"You should - find a leather jacket," Charles tells him, shyly. "Like James Dean."

Erik raises an eyebrow at him. "Who's that? A client of yours?"

"No," Charles replies, laughing. "He's a movie star. Really handsome. He died young, but he looked good."

Erik takes a drag from his cigarette, exhales, replies, "well, if we find a leather jacket, I'll wear it for you." And then he grins at Charles, ruffling his hair affectionately. " _You_ think I'm handsome."

"Oh, do shut up, Erik Lehnsherr." Charles sticks his tongue at him and Erik just laughs some more. Somehow he doesn't mind that Charles thinks so; in fact, he feels relieved, like any other answer would damn him. (Damn them both, Charles thinks, smiling at him as he makes himself look so cool, effortlessly, while talking to Charles about this other mutant he encountered, a rather annoying ginger twit named Sean, and Charles just listens and watches Erik's animated, handsome face.)

 

**7.**

Logan eyes the bottle they give him, sniffs it, and then hands Erik a key. "It'll do. You can have the room for a week for free, then you'll have to pay again if you want to keep staying."

Logan is with a nice lady named Marie who always feeds them whether or not they have something to pay for, so long as there's something to feed them with, and usually there's something. The other tenants chip in a bit, and while it's no feast, it's better than nothing.

"You kids been to the fair yet?"

Charles frowns. "That's ridiculous, they'll never fix that up right now."

"Well, not the whole place. But you know, they got some of the fixtures up and running," Logan tells them. He gives them a re-drawn map of new york, the edges and most of the cities blurred and marked with red crosses where it was unsafe or gone. He points somewhere down Brooklyn. "Over here. The waters washed the ferries wheel and some of the other rides over the shore. Ain't a bad place, if you don't mind it a bit moldy and wet."

He gives the map to Charles, and he folds the map and places it in their bag. "Thank you. I'll tell - Erik," he says, Erik who apparently has already gone to their room with their stuff and now Charles is talking to air. He sighs. "We'll make our way there."

"Alright. Stay outta trouble, kid."

Like having an unwanted father. Twice as annoying, but third time's a better charm. Somehow it took the whole apocalypse for Charles to find another one. This shouldn't make him cry as it should but it did, and he rushed to the washroom to wipe his eyes while Erik was sprawled on the bed, snoring.

 

**8.**

Erik finds a camera with a working roll of film, and he climbs over mountains of debris to tell Charles. "Look! Look what I found!"

Charles smiles at him fondly. "That's nice." _I can hear you in your mind, too._

 _You know I don't like it when you go in my head,_ Erik says, but it's not said with anger, just the slightest bit of annoyance. Charles sends a wave of apology at him; Erik feels a slight press on the side of his palm, and he relents. "Sorry."

"It's alright. I forget, sometimes."

"Well, you can't forget things, too, I've already forgotten some." Charles bites the inside of his cheek, rather guiltily. Instead he turns Erik's attention to what he wears. "Do you like it?"

He's wearing a bright blue dress with sequins, which he found in a bent rack of clothes hung over the railings in the building. It looks - indecent. "For - presenting," Charles says feebly, his voice growing a bit quieter in embarrassment. "You know - sometimes, they need something visual and .... In _this_ world to see, before I can - work with their minds - so I thought - "

"It looks - " a bit too short, it shows off his legs nicely, though, rather pale, but - Erik turns red. "- you look fat in it," he finishes, saving his ego heroically.

Charles' eyes widen in indignation. "I do _not_."

"Yes you do," Erik tells him somberly. He pokes at Charles' side. "Look."

"That's not fair of you."

"I don't really care," Erik says. He takes his hand. "Come, let's go to the fair."

"Yes, well - I need shoes."

"You're not walking in heels in this rubble. I'm not carrying you. You'll crush me."

"Ugh, you're so pathetic." But Charles is laughing. He settles for ballet flats, and he does a pirouette, and Erik takes a picture of him. The polaroid is a bit faded when it comes out, but he pockets it anyway. Some things, you can only speak about yourself, and this was one of them. He carefully makes sure it wasn't folded or anything inside his pocket, and Charles turns red at how he keeps it with care. Erik notices this, and he grins. "I'm keeping it to scare off the rats in our room," he says, to which Charles replies with a punch to his side, and Erik just laughs it off.

 

**9.**

The merry-go-round doesn't work, but when Charles steps into the platform it lights up and music begins to play. Most of the mirrors have been smashed and the horses probably have seen better days, but most of it is intact, and Charles rides one of the horses.

"My family could've bought fifteen hundred of these .... "

"That was before," Erik says. He's smoking again, Charles thinks it's a horrid habit, if only because he has a feeling that the older Erik gets the more cool he'll look with a cigarette dangling from his lips. "There's nothing for us here, now."

"That's not true," he replies, leaning against the wooden pole. His fingers scratch at the iridiscent paint on the wood, taking flecks of glitter off from the surface. "We can turn this place into something great, Erik, we just have to be patient. We have to ... Be stronger. And then, when we are stronger, people will come."

"People?"

"Or mutants. Probably mutants." Charles smiles at him. "They will come looking for us. We can re-build this place for us, just a place for our kind."

Erik frowns. "That's a lot of work."

"But it'll be ours," Charles says. "We'll outlaw anyone that hurts us, we'll kill them if they dare. Maybe it's a bit - old-fashioned, now, to speak about these things, but I like having peace and quiet and a nice place to come home to filled with friends. Is that ... does that sound alright?"

"Well - really, Charles - we're not getting to that if we keep scavenging and pretending to whore ourselves to people."

"We have years ahead of us," Charles says lightly. "And don't insult my pastime, it gets us many things. People may be horrible when they're lonely, and they do more horrible things when desperate, but they have lots of secrets, and we can start a trade from there, too."

"I wasn't insulting it. I just - don't like it. Don't give me that look, I know what it's good for. But - look, if I were as rich as James Dean, you wouldn't have to do that. I'll drive you around places - "

"you said I was too fat - "

"- and then I'll dump you in the river because you're annoying, are you happy now?"

"you will never be as handsome as James Dean, will you stop letting that get into your head? How do you even walk like that?"

Erik kisses him.

"And then we can run away," he murmurs against Charles' lips. "I don't know. I'll grow up to be someone better." He takes Charles' hands into his own, smiling. "I'll build a place for us, and you'll be by my side, and I'll wear your ridiculous leather jacket."

He kisses him again, soft and light over his lips, their noses bumping against each other.

 

**10.**

When they get home, Logan notes the bruise on Charles' neck, and says nothing to that, or to the blue dress, but he does tell Erik that he not allowed to fuck anyone in the rooms, and Erik growls at him and tells him to shut up while Charles smiles.

 

**11.**

Charles tells him, "face me."

"What for - " and Erik is blinded by the camera flash and Charles laughs.

"You're ridiculous," Erik rolls his eyes, but Charles moves to hug him from behind and he says, in a small voice, "you're all I have."

Erik swallows. Something ridiculous is building in him, heavy on his throat and like lead on his tongue, and all he can say was, "I know. That's a lot more than other people have, and - we're lucky."

Charles presses kisses on his back, along the ridge of his spine, fingers moving over every bone and whispering, _I do, I do, I do._

  



End file.
